Caffinated Conspiricy
by Superior Savior
Summary: Mr. Mackey tries to cure Tweek of his latest delusion, but in the processe, learns a terrible secret that could wreck the world of coffee.
1. Work and Peace

Chapter One; Work and Peace

I don't own South Park, or any of the charactars contained within, nor do I own Red Bull. Don't sue me! This is as you can see my first work here, don't be too harsh on me please. 

Calming vapours lazily drifted from a pot of slowly burning incense, filling the musty air of the cramped councillor's office with a sense of relative tranquillity, as it's only occupant, a conspicuously bulbous headed man in his late forties, finished u

Calming vapours lazily drifted from a pot of slowly burning incense, filling the musty air of the cramped councillor's office with a sense of relative tranquillity, as it's only occupant, a conspicuously bulbous headed man in his late forties, finished up his days work. Withdrawing a plain cheese roll from his tidily arranged workbag, he thanked the lords of psychiatry for diagnosing Craig Nommel with Tourettes disorder, removing the one person standing between him and a quick and painless cruise to retirement, and prepared himself for the familiar taste of cheddar as he set his teeth to the bread. 

An unexpectedly bitter sensation filled over his tongue, disgusting the poor man enough to stop his eating and, peeling open the remainder of his daily dairy allowance, peered within to a shocking discovery. "Wenslydale?" he scowled "I only eat Wenslydale on Wednesdays; this'll throw my whole week out of balance." Thinking hard, he chose to dispose of his food in a confiscated pencil case until the time was right, but pondered hard on ways he could make this difficult situation more mmmkay. 

A little something unfortunately prevented him from finishing up with his thoughts, at least, for a little while. A little something with a crazily unkempt mop of straw for hair and a set of clothes that hung like badly hung curtains from his scrawny, flailing limbs, who crashed head-first into his thin wooden door with a violent thud, recoiling momentarily to the dusty ground before shakily dusting himself, checking over his shoulder for unseen spies, tearing open the door and rushing into the office. The moment he recognised Tweek, Mr. Mackey mentally sighed that he wasn't being paid for nothing after all, and opening his notebook, prepared to be tortured with another painfully obscure way his whole family could die. 

"Oh my god man I'm not sure If I should tell you this, you could be one of _them _and if you found out I knew I'd wake up on the bottom of the sea with a concrete waistcoat if I ever woke up at all but they're gonna get me anyway, where's my coffee gone, I can't let them do this to the world, I have to tell someone, are you listening to me sir, please, I need you're help!" Mackey tried in vain to comprehend the senseless squeak flying from the hyperactive mouth of the equally hyper boy, before sliding his half-filled mug of tar across the desk, sacrificing coffee for a greater cause. 

Cautiously stretching through the wooden barrier between them, Mackey placed his calming hands on Tweek's shoulders, noting the boy'd already drowned himself in the caffeine. Calmly but firmly he whispered in the caffeine crazed kid's direction; "calm down, mmmkay, it's alright now. Tell me what Cartman did to make you into a crazy little illegitimate monkey child this time, mmkay?" 

"B-but, it's not mmkay man! They're gonna get me, and get you too, if you aren't one of them that is! They're gonna make us wish we had super aids or something else that'd kill us with all the pain, so we wouldn't have to live through their sick coffee-killing mind games man, GAH!" His shrill cry did nothing to unnerve Mackey; after all, he'd heard it all before almost every day for the past three years. Before Mackey could open his lips to inquire for a fuller explanation another exclamation shot from the blonds' mouth "their going to put the coffee industry out of business!"

"Who?" Macky mocked that genuine intrigue into Tweek's troubles. Actual interest generally leaves a councillor after a few years with the average kid, or days with a boy like Tweek. 

"You know, them, the people who'd do anything for money!" 

"That doesn't narrow down the suspects much, mmmkay." 

"Agh! I nearly forgot everyone was only out for my money, and they'll kill me when they find out I don't have any! But even you shrinks aren't as bad as these guys, they don't just sell drugs to school kids, they sell us caffeine! That's how bad they are man!" 

Confusedly scratching at his loose hairs, Mackey asked the obvious question "I thought you liked Caffeine?"

"Love it man, but these dudes, they've corrupted caffeine's good name! They make it look like it turns you into a paranoid junkie or something, when it's the only thing that keeps people sane, or as sane as people can be when they aren't trying to cut my heart out for a lunchtime snack. They're gonna put coffee out of business and monopolise the market for caffeine!"

Fighting hard not to get annoyed with the crazy monkey, Mackey leant in and asked one last time "who in Sam heck is doing all this?" 

Almost throwing Mackey out of his chair as he jumped towards his ear, Tweek shrouded his face with his over-cleaned hands, whispering the name of his great foe as quietly as his caffeinated blood would allow. "The Red Bull company man!"

"How did the Red Bull company come into this?" Before the worlds left his mouth, Mackey knew he'd made the biggest mistake of the day. Mentally slapping himself for it, he listened for the inevitable rant.

"Gah! Have they sent gnomes to steal your memory or something? It's like I just said, they're selling caffeine, but it's not in coffee! Do you know what that'll do to our business, Harbucks will kick us out on the street and we'll starve and die like Kenny does every week!" 

"Harbucks is the most powerful dictatorship on the planet since the Kennedy Reich. No one could bring them down, not even you're dad's mind-melting metaphors. Don't loose you're faith in coffee, mmmkay?" Mackey in his frustration, confused himself by saying. 

Looking to his charge, he wasn't shocked to see him curled up in the corner of the room, a ball of worry, worrying his shirt half off his frame. "They're gonna give caffeine lovers a bad name, make people think we're all cuckoo, make me loose my job as the class crazy! They put so much of the good stuff in there, it isn't even good anymore, I never thought I'd say this but, they make caffeine evil! They probably put crack in there as well, that'd explain why it doesn't calm people down or anything, and why it's so addictive it'll steal all coffee drinkers away! We're doomed!" 

Quickly intervening to stop the boy bashing his skull in on the desk (and to preserve his retirement fund from the greedy hands of whoever sued him for that), Mackey replied with the obvious "why don't you just make it mmkay by drinking their red bull and selling it in your shop? Mmmkay?" 

Stunned to hear something that made sense, enough not to bash his brains in on the floor, Tweek's mind worked hard to find a reason why he couldn't turn to the blood-red side. It'd save his family, and his mind. But did he really want to end up a junkie, living a hollow existence to satisfy his cravings? And what would god do to him when he found out he'd betrayed coffee, he'd probably think he was a Mormon and invite him into heaven; there's no coffee in Mormon heaven, his immortal caffeine supply was in danger! Mentally screaming at the thought of an eternity of plays about making paper hats and pressure-filled craft sessions without caffeine, Tweek noticed too late that he'd pulled out a handful of his golden hair. "It's way too much pressure to look directly into the Osmond's shining teeth man, besides, it'd be unethical to turn my back on coffee now. The gnomes would never let me live if I was a traitor like that!"

"Mmmkay, that Osmond hate seals it, you're one heck of a sick puppy. I suppose now's as good as good a time as any to take the craziness away, it's not like I have anything better to do, mmkay, now my cheese has gone all ginger on me and all, mmkay." Confusing Tweek as much as he confused anyone else for a few milliseconds, Tweek decided he thought what Mackey had decided on and dived to his ankles, clinging on like he was a giant mug of Columbia's finest or the last pair of pants in the draw.

"Don't take me away to the crazy farm, they don't have coffee there, Kyle told me they don't. Even if they did I'd burn myself to death trying to drink it with my hands all tied back, and I'd be helpless to resist the gnomes! Gah! And who'd stop the Red Bullies? No one! They'd kill us all man, it's so much pressure to stop them, but man! Someone needs to! Gah! "

Finally interested in something Tweek said, Mackey almost changed his mind to go with what Tweek unwittingly proposed. Realising how well his last commitment order went down after he almost stopped the salvation of Commercialism on Christmas, Mackey answered Tweek with his real plan, his real plan to get rid of this week's delusional fear at least.

"Come in on Saturday, mmkay, I've got something special to show you that'll change you're life forever, I hope"

"I knew you wanted to rape my tight mad ass!" Clasping his hands over his mouth for the damnable obscenity, in front of a paedophile teacher at that, Tweek began to back to the door as quick as his little legs would carry him, tripping over his feet in time for Mackey to explain his plan in full, saving his loose old ass from jail. 

"We're going to the Red Bull factory, to see just how evil these 'monsters' really are, and that's that, mmkay?!"


	2. Awakening

Chapter two: A Wake Up Call

**Chapter two: A Wake Up Call**

They were going to get him, he knew it. He could hear them coming for him, hear their heavy leaden boots clunking down the corridors, smell the acrid chemicals on their coats, he could even taste their rage flying through in the air towards him. He saw too much, he knew he shouldn't have tried to be a hero, but this was for coffee. When they got him they'd grind down his bones and dissolve it in his drained blood, like they did to the others, then his friends would drink him, then they'd go mad and die, then... Oh god, what does it matter? He'd be dead, when the red bull people got to him!

Lost in thought, Tweek didn't see he was running to a dead end until it was too late to turn back. He was trapped on a balcony, caged by railings above a vat of boiling bodily fluids, once human lives now branded Red Bull. The blond shuddered to hear a sinister chuckle not too far behind him; they found him. He turned to see them, an army of white coated creatures whose faces were eaten by foul gas masks, their eyes the eyes of bugs. The chuckler crept within smelling distance of his face, and slowly bent to his eye level. Smiling for a moment, Tweek almost thought about jumping the railing. He didn't have a chance to of his own accord, before the man lunged like an animal, throwing him through the metal into the boiling tower of blood.

His head feeling suddenly like a coffee been in a grinder, Tweek wondered why he could still feel pain when he was dead. Then he opened his eyes, and found himself looking into a strange sea of green fur. Looks like the priest lied about the afterlife too, shouldn't have trusted him, well, trusted him as much as he did. What was all that ringing though, coming from above him? Was that God?

Oh no, he was going to be thrown into hell for doubting the priest! This was a test; he should have had more faith, more trust! In sudden terror he regained his oversized will to live, jumping to his full height of four foot in less time than it'd take to blink, only to find himself in his room. Looking at his madly shaking alarm clock.

Darn, not this again! He hated that thing, always shocking him into leaping across the room like a cat that's just had a pot of boiling coffee spilled on it, his head flying fast from the comfort of his pillow to the none too comfortable carpet. He thought about throwing it as hard as he could against the wall, but realised his parents would sell him to Mongolian slavers to buy a new one if he did that, so he just gave the buttons a cautious nudge to kill it. Then he saw the time.

He had to leave in an hour! There was no way he could get dressed and eat his breakfast in an hour! He was going to be late, he knew it, then everyone would want to kill him in an even more painful way, for making them wait to kill him, and they'd probably kill his family too as revenge, or make him die going cold turkey from coffee. God his head hurt. He really needed to put pads on the floor or something when he turned that alarm on. Or drink a coffee, yeah, that'd make it better.

Climbing down the stairs fast enough to be falling, he couldn't steady himself before he crashed his head into the wall and bounced over on his back. Thanking whoever made the world that he wasn't a turtle and could get up (so they wouldn't get mad at him and make him into a turtle) he thrust himself up with his little legs and scrambled to the kitchen, being sure to rush at a slower pace in there, where knives and kettles and other assorted lethal weapons lurked to dispose of unwary kids. So when his chest collided with the breakfast table, he only fell into the nearby chair, knocking it down to the ground. Realising too late that grasping the air was the wrong way to stop the chair hitting the dented rubber of the floor, he was happy that his half expectation for it to shatter like a grenade on impact and send shrapnel through his guts was as wrong as it'd been every other day of his life. He could've sworn he heard someone mutters something illegible from behind. Overcoming his lifelong fear of killer bacteria on the dirty lino with the fear that he'd trip on the chair and end up exploding himself, he bent quickly to pick it up, so no predators could get him when he was bent down.

"Your up early." The kind, calm voice startled him so badly he almost ran, before he remembered it was his mums. He ran over to hug her good morning.

"Thank you for not dying or being possessed by the devil or taken over by aliens while I was asleep! I love you and your coffee making skills mum!" sleeked the blond. Backing from the tight embrace he initiated, he inquired sceptically, "You are my mum and not her evil twin from a parallel universe who's shaved her evil beard, aren't you?"

"Yes Tweek, I love you very much. That's why I've arranged for you to go on a visit with that nice Mr Mackey from school and get rid of all these silly fears you have about us loosing the business and selling you to Mongolian slavers." A hand caressed his hair to calm him, but the reminder of his day's visit with to the home of all evil didn't help steady his nerve. "We checked to make sure he's not a paedophile or anything, he had nothing like that on his computer or in his underwear draws or his medicine cabinet when I snuck into his house late last night to check him out. You should be fine."

New fears even he hadn't imagined fuming into the maze of his thoughts, Tweek knew what he needed. "Gah! Coffee!" Realising he'd burn in hell if he didn't, he added "please!"

Then he remembered he was in his underwear. Before his mum could turn the kettle on, he was in his room, and before she'd poured it out he was at the table trying valiantly to do his buttons. God he was almost late there, if he'd taken another 45 minutes to get those clothes on and down that coffee, well, he'd have only been five minutes early! Well, he might as well enjoy the last moments of his life, he supposed, as he turned on his Okame Gamesphere, and begun what would perhaps be his last bout of heroin hero. That game sure had a way of helping his nerves, even if he could never catch the dragon. He'd get it one day, or rather, it'd probably decide to get him and jump out of the screen and eat him. Oh well, at least he could only die once (he hoped) and that fate couldn't befall him if he fell at the hands of…

A cup of coffee was trust into his line of sight as the deeply reassuring voice of his father beckoned. "Drink this and get yourself ready son, I think the councillor will be here in…" Cher music seeped into the house from a nearby cruising vehicle, and both knew the sentence didn't need finishing. "Well, just drink this," his dad didn't need to say, as Tweek gulped down a steaming cup of life, and dived to terminate his last time with the Gamesphere. Darn the time goes quick when you're chasing the dragon! It's almost as if little visitors inside the sphere abducted him and made him loose half an hour, but his ass didn't hurt enough for it to be them. Well, he said his fondest farewells to all his toys, and his loyal 'Caffeine King' mug, before sombrely packing his bag, and waiting at the door. "Thanks mum. Thanks dad! It's been a great life; I only wish I had more of it!"

His parents chucked at their son's daily farewell, opening the door to reveal the meteorically swollen head of the councillor, to whom they patted their reluctant son. Giving them a last, longing look, Tweek grit his teeth and put on his bravest face, walking towards Mackey's car. Well there was an upside to this at least. The icy air blowing though his still unbuttoned shirt wasn't going to kill him; he didn't have long enough to live to die of hypothermia. There wouldn't be as much of it in Mackey's probably torture device filled car, either.

Reaching down, a green sleeved arm swung open the door and beckoned Tweek to enter the death chamber in front of him that'd been cleverly disguised to look like an ordinary, if elderly, rusty green car. "Get on in there, mmmkay, we've got a long day ahead of us." Well he trusted Mackey enough to tell him this earth shattering secret, he may as well trust him till the end.

By the time Mackey had opened the door Tweek was already buckled fast to the chair by his potentially lifesaving seatbelt (which would probably snap when the car was pushed of the road by gnomes) Mackey didn't have to go through his usual safety speech, disappointingly for him, before planting himself on the seat, slowly shutting the door (he knew what sudden loud noises did to Tweek) and turning, slowly, to his charge, for a serious little conversation.

"Don't rape me please! Just kill me! And quick! Please!" squeakily implored the wide eyed little madman beside the councillor, who gasped, his hands flying to his mouth to try and toss those words back in it. "I didn't mean to be rude Mr. Mackey's evil child Molesting twin from a parallel universe, sir, do whatever you want to me, don't torture my family though… please!"

Taken so far aback Mackey banged his head against the window, he was starting to worry himself that if he didn't quiet Tweek down one of the seemingly hundreds of people suddenly crowding the street outside the coffee show that just happened to be the Tweek family home (and the one street in town with any shops), onlookers to their little drama, would smash his head in thinking he was a member of NAMBLA. Sorry to be glad that passers-by just pointed and laugh at the bouncing little blonde's shenanigans, Mackey tried to calm him down by example, stroking his chin. "If I were an evil twin, wouldn't I have a little pointy beard of doom, and wouldn't I have just killed your parents and had my evil way with your tight little ass already, mmmkay?"

Thinking about it, Tweek realised how stupid he'd been to start suspecting the one man he trusted with his conspiracies of not being that one man. God he was so stupid! He slammed his head into the dashboard, to dislodge the stupid, before turning to the now recovered Mackey, who put a hand somewhat reassuringly on Tweaks shoulder, and looked down into his eyes.

"This is the kind of thing I'm trying to stop. If you keep this up, you'll never have a happy life, or any relatively normal friends mmmkay. If I teach you this one group of people aren't evil, you might just learn a thing about trust, and how you shouldn't think everyone's going to tear your head off and drink your tasty brain fluids or act like a Jewish kid in a rally of Mel Gibson fans for Michael Jefferson, mmmkay. This should be a wake up call to you, mmmkay, to understand we all just want to help you grow into a nice and normal and quiet and bland little boy. Who's happy, mmmkay."

Thinking long and hard about this cheesy little speech, Tweek thought it'd be best to die facing his fears and fighting for what he believes in (coffee) than die a Hyperactive worm. At least he'd know all of their evil deranged secrets before he died, even if he didn't want to hear them. Convinced his job was done, for now at least, Mackey got to work with the wheel, and the car shuddered into life. Popping some classical music in the tape deck (this was an old car after all) for its supposed calming effects, and to drown out any farther moaning, he sped off at his fastest speed (20 MPH) to get this over with, save this boy from his fears and make his job in life a heck of a lot easier.

All seemed to go smoothly for the remainder of the trip. Despite almost dying more times than Tweek could count on his fingers and toes put together on every road they ventured through, Tweek kept to his thoughts, preparing himself for the worst.

After about a quarter of a century, as it seemed to Tweek, or of an hour, as it seemed to Mackey, the two arrived in sight of a large silver building, about the size of the school, in the outskirts of town. A billboard notified all that this was the destination, the palace of all evil or the local red bull factory. Ironically playing the crescendo of Beethoven's fifth symphony, the music served to consolidate Tweek's determination.

If he had to go down, he wouldn't go down without a fight. He'd go down a man. The wind rustling through his ever messy hair as he burst from the car in uncharacteristic keenness, Tweek prepared for his final fight, striding towards his fate.

Locking up the car, Mackey strode through the long car park after him, whistling a happy tune as he carelessly joined the kid in the warm, friendly lobby of the Red Bull Corporation's local department.


	3. Fear Factory

Chapter 4: fear factory

**Chapter 4: fear factory**

I don't own South Park or Red Bull. See if you can spot all of the episode references in this chapter.

"All right Tweek, the Red Bull company's being very kind letting us have this tour, and I assure you they aren't just doing this to get us alone and they can suck the sweet, yummy brain juice out our ears and sell it to people, mmmkay. Just listen with an open mind, and you might learn their just as scared as you, about loosing business and starving on the streets and stuff, and if you see any evidence their as bad as you say, like people or the executives eating eye-balls, well, then I give you all the permission in the world to kick them in the balls, mmmkay."

"Gah! I don't have long before my nut-kicking skills are gonna be put to the test! Tests are way too much pressure, I've gotta practice my nut kicking." Sweeping his leg at invisible target in the air, Tweek's badly tied trainer flew across the empty lobby. Adding as he ran to fetch it, "not gonna wait as long as we have for this stupid tour guide to come and kill us, I mean, take us into his lair."

"Sorry I was so late; we had a few safety checks to do before the tour could begin." The dry southern accent came right on cue, from a recent graduate in a neat white coat, an inviting grin and brittle curls the colour of a particularly milky cup of coffee. An accusing finger aimed itself toward the red, velvety guest couch the councillor was slumping his bulbous head upon. "Mr Mackey I presume? Here for the morning tour, with, ah, this must be Tweek."

"Gah! How did you know my name?" his gaping eye holes staring into their mirrors on the man standing directly above him, as Tweek wondered what else the man knew, if he knew his biggest fears and the worst ways to hurt him. The man's supportive smile did nothing to assure to Tweek he didn't want to rip him apart like a rabid dog.

"Mackey told me a lot about you on the phone. He says you're afraid about the company." His face silently sighed in memory. "Not the first time we've come under attack, and probably not the last either, but I've never seen the propaganda machine get to one as young as you before." Back in his smile, the man's voice lifted with realisation "at least it gives them a reason to employ a permanent tour guide like me, to teach the world the real beauty behind our product." Walking behind the counter to the door from whence he must've came, he beckoned his pair of charges to follow him in, disappearing through before Mackey could bring himself to leave the comforting embrace of the chair.

Turning his small planetoid of a head toward his the paranoid companion, the councillor gave one last attempt at pacifying him, though he knew a few dozen more wouldn't make any difference to Tweek's behaviour, and that it'd only be by luck or miracle that the kid didn't burn the factory to the ground before the visit was over. "You managed a minute with these monsters and didn't get your head bitten off; maybe they aren't really trying to break you down for spare parts, mmmkay, eh?

Surprised to see the boy already flying after the guide, Macky rushed to keep up. "No time to talk, gotta keep up with him or he'll get angry. We haven't even seen him angry yet. Gah! We don't know what he's capable of!"

When he saw the pair got into the well furnished wooden corridor, they stopped to spot their guide caressing a gold framed portrait of an elderly gentleman whose jaunty bones were clothed in a suit of leather skin. Spotting their accusing stares, the guide didn't immediately cease from his action with a look of guilt, as they'd expected, but instead turned invitingly to them and announced in a reverent tone, "what better way to start the tour than with a little bit of history, and what better way to start looking at the company's history than with a look at the one responsible for it's creation?"

"This great example of humanity," he said, tapping the air around the gilded picture, "is Dietrich Mateschitz, a Billionaire toothpaste salesman from that land of Bratwurst, Sheiβse Porn and Adolph Hitler, Austria. Like Einstein, and probably like you he wasn't a particularly good student" he said presumptuously but correctly, looking down at the blonde who was usually too scared out of his mind to put any new knowledge in there. "He wasted the whole of the hippie era in a stuffy economics classroom, learning the inns and outs of the free market, memorising the example set by the mighty Pilgrim Fathers who bought Manhattan for a bag of beads and probably some TB soaked blankets. Remembering this all American tradition on a visit to Thailand, he ingeniously liberated an indigenous recipe from the greedy clutches of the natives, the recipe for what'd come to be known as Red Bull. The Thais had used its powers to stay awake all night for their work, building themselves a great industry in the process, but never let those stuck in the West sniff even the tiniest bit, damning them to sleep forever." Tweek begun to wonder what life would be like if he had to sleep, and couldn't catch those darn gnomes before they tried to steal his bloody underpants, or his blood for that matter.

"Variations of the recipe were common throughout Asia. Japan's economic success was almost single handedly the result of their ability to work all day and night, and the reason we in the US nearly drowned in their cash, and crassly merchandised TV shows in the early 90's was because we didn't have that same advantage. It's thanks to Dietrich we don't have to spend all night worrying about the Japanese invading anymore." Well, Tweek agreed, he'd spend more time worrying about the Japanese than he already did if they had such an unfair advantage.

"Well, he quit his job at a toothpaste factory, where he formerly saved thousands of kids just like you from plaque, tartar and Algebraic Squirrel-chickens who regularly cause mischief in kid's mouths, and concentrated on delivering the potion to the west from then on. It didn't take him more than a few years to build the world's biggest energy drink company, proof that hard work and a good idea always pay off, in Austria at least." Tweek begun to wonder how many of his gnome extermination techniques he'd have to sell before he got as rich as Token, and could afford to fund research into even better methods of gnome massacre. Before he had a chance to figure out that people would want to kill him as much as gnomes if he were that rich, the guide begun to wander down the hall, beckoning them to follow him into a deceptively small side chamber.

When inside, they were greeted by an office little bigger than Mackey's own, but furnished in a much cosier fashion, more akin to a living room. Surprisingly, the little tour group wasn't alone. Slumped upon the comforting cream couch that dominated the room were the dude from Shity wok, who wore nothing but an undersized towel loincloth emblazoned with both the Red Bull label and the title, "Shitty fighter." Beside him sat one of the most beautiful females Tweek had ever seen, a tall girl around his age, with blonde curls down to her leather clad waist, topped with a cute little aviator's helmet scarily reminiscent of Craig's. Leaning upon the wall was a slightly less attractive man in a face obscuring snow-cap, and the kind of clothes and expression you'd expect to find on MTV.

Leaving the group only a moment to take in the sight, the guide turned to them and continued his lesson. "The Thais used what became Red Bull to boost their sporting prowess, unfairly advantaging its martial artists with its power to make them some of the best in the world. To combat this inequality, and to help humanity overcome its limitations, Dietrich provided the drink to various sporting events, helping the west compete not just in martial arts but every other sport. These here are just some of the people whose lives were enhanced by Red Bull."

Turning to the Wok guy, "This man supplements his meagre income fighting in caged arenas around the nation. Without Red Bull he'd either surely die in the ring, or starve to death not being able to fight. Then his businesses and his family would surely die as well, as would all the customers who count on his cheap prices. This is just one of the many ways Red Bull serves the local community." The knowledge that he wouldn't be able to hire Shity Gnome killers if it wasn't for Red Bull would've changed his opinion of the drink then and there, If they weren't so shitty and if his parents wouldn't be able to hire Shitty Psychiatrists without it, or unwittingly poison him with the apply named Shitty Chicken every night they were too out of it (on coffee) to cook.

Next the guide introduced the beautiful blonde, "this here is Estella, one of the people Red Bull really has given wings, without any messy genetic mutilation necessary. You see, we run a fun little competition every year, called the air-race, to see who the world's fastest fliers were."

Piping up as loudly and as proudly as he could manage, while plopping on a little paper hat emblazoned with the Shitty air logo, from somewhere under his towel garb, the Wok guy said "I got second place in the shitty race, that is, the race in the air around Denver Shitty!"

Seeming without moving one of the pretty muscles in her beautiful face, the girl upon the couch replied In an icy British tone, "shut that smelly little maw of yours when you're in the presence of your colonial Masters, you stinky yellow puddle of a peasant boy with an ass infection's piss-like shit, before I have to shut it for you! You spineless maggots would have a lack of brains to match your lack of looks, well looks that don't induce blood filled vomit sessions, if doubt entered into your vacuous skulls for even a microsecond that I was the true winner of the cup, which didn't even buy my air-fare home when I sold it to some retard with the ambitions of a magpie on E-bay!"

Unsurprisingly unhesitant to move the tour along, the guide concluded, "That's out Estella alright, telling you about as much as you need to know about our air races, and getting paid her airfare home the moment this little tour finishes." Tweek was glad she'd chosen to enter into such a dangerous career, instead of becoming a politician or something and starting another war with England, the last five minute war almost gave him a dozen heart attacks.

Edging towards the cool looking snow boarder dude, the guide was unpleasantly surprised by the man interrupting him, in the exact same voice as any extreme sportsman, "Wehey little dude and not-so little headed dude! I'm Chad, an adrenalin addict from Asspen, and I just wanna join in with my friends here in telling you just how much Red Bull changed my life around! I used to have a super lame job teaching kids how to ski on the mountains; I was such a looser I thought it was a kick-ass way of life. But then I met the dudes from Red Bull, who paid me to do the most awesomely extreme sport in the cosmos, snowboarding!" Well, Tweek silently surmised, at least Red Bull would give this living stereotype the confidence to kill himself before he could trick any innocent youngsters into following him in his life of recklessness and getting them murdered by the mountains.

Turning to the largest of his little group of followers, the guide asked, "now that you've seen all the good Red Bull company does for the local community, or at least a tiny fraction of the good we do for society, would you think there would be any people with complaints about our marketing?"

"Well, I wouldn't think Red Bull was the top of many people's hate lists, mmmkay, especially not many people in this room." Mackey truthfully replied, his eyes scrutinising Tweek in an effort to guess how he'd respond. For once in his life the blonde was so lost in thoughts he was speechless. Perhaps he had been wrong about Red Bull's mind-controlling advertising after all; it definitely still wanted anyone who sold coffee to loose their jobs and their houses and get the life expectancy of other poor people like Kenny, but its mind control powers might have just been another of his little delusions.

"Oh god" he muttered as the guide drew them through a small panelled side door into a long hallway, tugging out a substantial clump of his hair as he did so, "maybe I'm going insane! Again!"

"I hate to say it, but Mr Mackey here would be wrong on that last point," sombrely admitted the guide, as he turned again to face his group in the narrow hall. "Many individuals, groups, and even whole countries around the world have at one time or another brought their fear induced rage down at our product." Ha, Tweek knew the evil secrets (and the death squads) would be revealed when they were too far into enemy territory to run away, or for anyone to hear their screams and cries for help! "People say that our early, naïve claims that the drink could help improve confidence and concentration are lies, and while we thought the 20 scientific studies we had to evidence our claims were enough to prove them, in the end we decided to alter our strategy and only say that it tastes really, really nice and makes you feel like you've got wings."

"That's pretty fair, mmmkay, I suppose."

Tweek thought of a way to really back the guide into a corner, and reveal the horrible monster he knew lurked behind his smiling face. "What, what about all the horrible ways the drink can kill you! Gah! Like making your heart beat so hard it flies out of your body, or pumps so much blood your veins tear into a million little fibres?"

Sadly looking down at the blonde when his half-expected expected comment was released, the guide replied with an honesty Hollywood would have you believe is uncommon among the employees of big companies, "I'm glad you stopped me from portraying Red Bull as the elixir of eternal life or a cure for all life's problems. Not all of the rumours about health problems caused by Red Bull are lies, only the vast majority of them. It's not quite nicotine, but it has it's not flawless either. While we defend it from any urban legends, like the one about it having an obscenely high caffeine content when it's only as awakening as a good cup of Harbucks, or about it being used as a chemical weapon in Vietnam or it being banned by the UN convention on nuclear arms proliferation, we acknowledge that in high dosages, or when in combination with alcohol, or when ill, the drink can cause health concerns ranging from a high blood pressure to a full on heart attack. Grieved by the three deaths worldwide reportedly due to our product, the company chose to include a large health warning on the back of the can. If people want to abuse the drink and overdose on it, or take so much they get addicted and have to whore themselves out on the streets for a can, that's their problem. We wish that kind of thing never happened, but it'd be impossible to stop some kids trying to get high off of it."

God that all sounded horribly logical to Tweek. Getting a little impatient for them to tear out their chain-saws and slice him into a thousand pieces, he decided to hasten things along with another frequent complaint. "Isn't the thing made with Cow's piss or something that could have evil cow diseases in it?"

Unruffled by another statement he'd obviously been confronted with far too many times already, the guide responded. "Many complained that our product violated trade regulations by saying it was suitable for people with Vaginitis, or vegetarians as the sufferers of that degenerative condition which turns victims into giant pussies like to call themselves. They accuse us of hurting cows by making them piss all day and night in piss factories, and try to gross out our customers, calling our product a really poor man's Cheese. Fortunately for us, this is just another of those silly urban legends people can't let go of. While the Thais we stole, I mean, liberated the formulae from, all used to do all that and probably still do, we brought in top scientists who used their super scientist powers to make the part of bovine urine used to give the drink it's distinctive multi-berry taste, without hurting any cows." Well, at least Tweek didn't have to worry about dying in the crossfire when the cows rose up, coming to get revenge on Red Bull drinkers anymore.

"We're almost at the end of the visit now, and I'm glad we had this little question and answer session, but before we put an end to this little tour, there's something I'd like to show you." Tweek was starting to seriously wonder if the guide would ever show them any evil, so much that he didn't run in fright when, with a loud crash, the doors slid aside, revealing a huge factory. "I'd like for you to have a quick peek at our employees in action!"

Looking around at the factory, Tweek could sense activity everywhere, as workers scurried about with their jobs, delivering assorted chemicals to mysterious machines, keeping inventories and messing with computers. When they saw they were being stared at, they did something even Mackey hadn't banked on (but hadn't completely excluded the possibility of), they started to sing and dance about their work!

"With a hidey lidey lidey and a hidey lidey lay

We work and we make Red Bull all the hidey lidey day

So folks can get a helpy in their tired lidey lives

And wake uppy with the Red Bull we make all day and night

I like to have a Red Bull every now and then

It makes me fee-l more awake when the day is never at an end.

And if it tastes like cow's piss I don't care

Who the hell knows what cows piss tastes like anyway?

So with a hidey lidey lidey and a hidey lidey lay

We work and we make Red Bull all hidey lidey day

So folks can get a helpy from their tiring lidey lives

And wakey uppy with the Red Bull we make all day and night"

As suddenly as it'd started, the singing and dancing stopped, and the tour pushed their way through another door, back to the lobby. Before disappearing from wherever he came from for another tour with another paranoid youth, the guide concluded, "Well that just about wraps up our little tour of the factory. I hope you learned a lot today, and if you're going to use Red Bull, remember to drink sensibly."

"Well, even I didn't know just how much of a pillar Red Bull is to the community before I saw that, or how much of a demented little dooder-head you'd need to be not to see how mmmkay these guys are. Do you still think they want to kill you in your sleep?"

For once a question that wasn't too much pressure for Tweek to answer. "Gah! I admit it, I was wrong! Red Bull isn't a secret Cabal ruled over by evil Gnomes, unlike Mc Donald's or Sweden, it's just a company that sells really good product really well, and I was jealous and scared like the town was of Harbucks. Harbucks buying us out turned into the best thing ever for our family, gah! So maybe Red Bull could turn out to be just as good if it ever tried to take us over. Gah. Thank's Mackey, I really, gah, I really owe you one."

Now walking through the car park, Mackey smiled back, "any time, any time, as long as it's not any time too soon, mmmkay?"

"Mmmkay sir, I'll try to keep my fears rational from now on." Suddenly filling with characteristic fright as they set into the car, Tweek yelped "Look out for gnomes! They might have broken into the car while we were gone! They could be in the back waiting to garrotte us both, Oh god, or laying in ambush just down the road! I need my coffee!"

Laughing to himself, the councillor dropped his charge off home, and left for his own. What an interesting day this'd turned out to be for the both of them. Mackey might not have cured Tweek of all his madness, but heck, his job would be too boring and probably so meaningless he'd get fired without that kid; at least his problems were imaginative.

Tweek was thoroughly glad to survive the journey, especially when he found out both his parents were alive, both still loved him, they still owned their house, and they even remembered to brew him a coffee as a welcome; Tweek couldn't have imagined a better end to the day.

Somewhere in a cluttered darkened office, a tall man wreathed in shade took a map from his draw. After giving it deep scrutiny, he replaced it upon the mahogany desk, waited a moment, and took up the heavy gilded receiver of the antiqued phone beside him upon the desk. In a deep Germanic accent with the hint of wealth, the man spoke "I feel it is time to begin our economic colonising of the Americas in full force. And I feel I know the best place to start." The map, sitting before him, was of a small town in central Colorado, the town of South Park.


End file.
